Feathers
by Shiroshitsujis
Summary: His new master was annoying, naive, and too hyper for his taste, but, while discovering her unique traits and unraveling the many secrets of the Kiran Mansion, he was constantly being surprised, to put it mildly. Rated T for multiple reasons.
1. Chapter 1

His eyes traced along the occupant of the worn, decaying rock, molded into a small bench. He stood directly in front of the boy who had been carefully observing his every movement, his every breath for the past few minutes.

His hands flexed momentarily, bloodied knuckles popping audibly with the relaxing movement. He blinked slowly, cinnamon eyes morphing into a sickly shade of magenta while black slits decorated the center of his discerning eyes. His standard uniform had been tarnished by the blood of the foes that had been made his when he signed that contract.

The boy stared at him, bursting with enough emotion to rival that of the dead. His hands were speckled with black soot and thick grease from the old bridge, but none of the dirt managed to snag onto the expensive, specially-designed garments. A shiver crept through his spine from the cold, night air even when he tried to dismiss it. A speck of dirt on the button of a small, curved nose would have been considered cute if the situation had not been so morbid.

He had known that this day would come. He knew from the moment he saw the creature. It had been looming over his head since that moment.

He had spent much time and much money for that day, preparing the Funtom Company, training his servants to aid the next family head with the most efficiency possible, cleaning the streets of London with a brutally vigilant eye. But he could only prepare himself so much for this particular moment.

"Young Master," The demon began, ghostly voice insinuating the inevitable,"It is time." Hungry fuchsia met dignified sapphire when they finally locked eyes.

"I am aware." He affirmed.

Then, with a small gulp, he gave the unnecessary slip of permission. "Take it, then...your payment."

At the command, the demon stalked towards the boy, painfully reminiscent of his true nature despite the human-looking shell.

Ciel could feel nothing, no fear, no worries, no joy, no sadness. Nothing, except for the burning, unexpected reliefcoursing wildly through his veins. It made him want to sag back into the bench. A completely uncharacteristic movement. One would think that adrenaline would rush through him, making him want to run for the fear of it all. But it wasn't like that. He was so incredibly_ relieved _that it was over. Everything, while it had not gone entirely to plan, was finished. He never had to go through it again.

Sebastian leaned forward, his nose almost brushing the boy's, "Yes..my lord." He said, fluid as ever.

Those were the final words. But what he didn't know was how soon he'd say them again.

* * *

It had only taken a few days for his service to be requested.

It had been another child.

A female in fact. One with choppy black hair that barely reached past her ears and covered the top of large, ice-hued eyes.

She looked like a worker from a salt mill. Her clothes were worn and the color, previously white, had faded to a dull tan. And they slumped around her slight form, creating a variety of wrinkles to form. He caught the scent of old lavender soap and noticed that her hair was damp. She had not been asleep when she called for him, despite the slight fog of drowsiness slowly dissipating from her eyes.

He barely cast a glance at the room around him. He already knew what the place looked like by heart, as he had been called there multiple times. The whole area was without any vibrant color, save for the abundant, falling feathers, jet-black in contrast with the white of the room.

Now fully coherent, her eyes moved wildly, examining the room with an urgency. The eery sight of feathers falling past her feet even as she remained standing gave her mild goosebumps. She then craned her neck to stare at a ceiling that did not exist and gazed downward at the nothing that supported her feet. And after she was satisfied with her inspection, an expression of disbelief manifested on her face.

He was clad in all black and held his true form of a demon.

With narrowed eyes, he began the process. "What is it that you want?"

He observed the tensing of her shoulders while her eyes widened more than they already had.

She had seen his teeth. Sharp. And capable of ripping out her pale throat without any effort. And she had heard his voice which, because of the echo in the room, sounded as if it was creeping closer with every syllable.

She took only a few seconds to respond. But in that time, he briefly wondered about what she could want.

Money, fame, revenge. Although there were many different desires that his previous masters had, each of them fit into one of those categories. He assumed that she would be no different.

Hopefully, although he was not one to believe in such things as _'hope'_, he would be in for another treat. He had greatly enjoyed playing with his previous master. Maybe, he could get a streak going.

She finally locked eyes with the demon, a foolish mistake."W-what? Who are you?" The young raven-haired girl gasped out, confused. It was often that her hearing was dulled by fear. And there was plenty of that available.

"That which you have summoned." He stated as if it was completely normal to summon a demon. Which it wasn't, but he wasn't going to tell her so. One did not frighten a deer if they wanted dinner.

His eyes narrowed marginally. The first few times he had done this, it had been amusing. The frighted human, the stuttering, the shivering, as if something had liberally poured freezing water upon the poorly dressed girl. Ciel had responded with such _enthusiasm, _such thirst for his demonic power, and he had appreciated the hiatus from the normal.

Having nothing better to do, he counted the number of times she blinked. An excessive sum. "I summoned you?" The disbelief in her inquiry was blatantly obvious, and the way her large, doe-like eyes widened had given it away as well.

He inspected the rest of her distastefully. He had lived long enough to know that looks were not to be trusted. His life as a butler was a perfect example. But he couldn't help but feel disappointed.

Her soul, he knew, was high quality. He could sense those types of things. And with a small amount of wok on his part, he could manipulate it into a fine meal. But she did not reek adventure and intrigue like Ciel had.

With a bored, prolonged blink, "Yes. You summoned me because you have a wish that I can accomplish." He explained fluidly.

"What do you want in return?" She had calmed down slightly. Her posture wasn't as tense. She had begun simply acting out of curiosity.

"I will eat your soul." No point in dallying or sugar-coating anything.

Although, he had to admit, it was interesting. Ciel hadn't asked that question before making the contract; he had been too rushed during the first meeting to sort out even the simplest of details and too frenzied from fear and lust of strength to care.

"But.. you'll help me?" She confirmed, not quite believing in the remarkable situation and timing.

"Yes. Do you wish to make the deal?" He had to be sure. He didn't want to get backed out on midway. It only made the task that much more boring. (There is a joke somewhere about backing out making the task more _lifeless_.)

"Really?" She couldn't help herself. Her jaw dropped in disbelief and pale blue eyes went wide with happiness at the mere thought of his help. The thin ray of light peeking through the clouds. Although in truth, he was no such blessing. He would ultimately be the cause of her demise, but she couldn't begin to process anything besides the hope he brought her with his declarations of success.

He could hold his promises, he knew, but whether or not she kept hers was what he was waiting to see. Enthusiasm was nice, but endurance was better. He knew she reserved the first quality, but there was no sign of the other. There was time to discover her secrets. He had a full stomach and had brusquely learned that a little patience would pay off.

"I do not joke." Not that much anyway.

"Yes, yes, of course." Those words were uttered quickly, almost without thought as his new master was considering the endless possibilities with a demon at her side.

**(A/N**) Now, this story will be written as an AU about what would have happened if Sebastian really did eat Ciel's soul at the end of the first season of the anime. Like almost every other fan fiction author, I do enjoy reviews if you are willing to give them.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time he saw her, he was clad in the same garments that he wore when he first met the young master.

A cramped room, filled with as many double-stacked beds as it could handle, met his eyes. Every bed was occupied by a child, but some of the beds were shared by a pair of them. And the number and dress of the urchins led him to believe that they were either orphans or household servants.

The space was clean for the most part. There was no dust on the numerous shelves or on the windowsill near her bed. The floor, creaky and scarred, held the remnants of various footprints but had been swept and mopped earlier in the day.

And a tap of his loafer betrayed the size of the mansion. It was definitely spacious enough to require all of the servants in it. He assumed that there were four floors. Her room was on the second floor, although that would have to be verified later.

Now was the time to sort out the fine details of the situation.

What she wanted from him. What he would do in the time beforehand. How long it would take. Even though that almost didn't matter to him. She could have lived out her whole life with him at her side and it would only remain a fragment of a memory in his past.

And although there were many varying reward of patience, he would rather it be quick. He had spent much time starving after the young master's soul, and it wasn't in his nature to spend most of his time waiting. That starving had paid off; the young master had satisfied his stomach quite well. She could follow suit if he took the time. A few years would be enough time to conform her soul to his tastes.

And although they were thorough, his musings had only taken up mere seconds. And in those same seconds, the girl had managed to crawl out of bed quietly, not wanting to rouse the other children.

The soft creak of the floor and the hesitant tap of footsteps cast his full attention toward her, his eyes observing her carefully in the new environment.

The abrupt scrutiny directed at her caused a slight gasp to exit her lips when she began,"Hi! We need to talk somewhere more private. My name's Robin! What's your's?" Despite the hurried manner of speech, she whispered as they were in the children's sleeping quarters during the wee hours.

His gaze finally rested on hers, glaring through the windows to her soul, "You may call me whatever you want." His quiet response fell on deaf ears as she was too occupied with checking the room for awoken children. She also was expecting a name. One that she did not receive.

She appeared relaxed. But there was some emotion lurking behind her eyes. Fear, maybe?

No. He didn't sense any fear. Nor could he find any within her soul. He only sensed a disguised feeling of joy emanating from her. Her eyes, along with her spirit, contained such purity. He almost wondered how a human with her innocence could summon a demon.

But she had. He still needed to ask he what it was she wanted from him. It wasn't in his nature to dally.

Silently, she pressed her hands together in a jovial manner, realizing at the last second that clapping would only serve to rouse the other children."Okay. Let's go to the cellar, but be quiet. I was punished the last time I got caught sneaking into there." She murmured, voice softening gradually. The last part was spoken almost without thought, like she was reminiscing.

Her eyes left him and trained on the path leading to the cellar. She grasped his cursed hand, guiding him while tiny, calloused fingers were made that much smaller by his larger, glove clad ones.

Now that she was closer, he could accurately estimate her height and search for the less obvious details. She was shorter than he had originally imagined and only reached two inches above his hip. He estimated her age was near to the young master's. But contrary to his earlier assumptions, her hair held no blueish tint. It was a simple, dull onyx. Her eyes were more white-blue than grey. And her frame was more sturdy than those clothes had let on.

He had placed the contract curse mark on the palm of her right hand. His mark was on the back of his left hand, the customary spot. The ceremony had been performed within the dream, but, much to his surprise, she hadn't hollered in pain or let a tear drip from her eyes. Although, she had not resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose and faintly whimper.

Her hand still throbbed from the pain, but she walked steadily, tugging him along until the cellar greeted their line of sight.

Yanking on him exasperatedly, "You _must_ be called something. What is it? If you let mename you, it will probably be a stupid name." Robin informed him honestly, incoherently humming as though in deep thought.

He didn't doubt that. Not one bit. Although he usually allowed his current master to name him for the duration of the task, he didn't feel like being called a _more_ insulting title. "Before I met you, I was known as Sebastian Michaelis."

With a triumphant raise of her shoulders, "Sebastian it is then!"

Quickly, she realized, "Wait. That's no good. My master is named Sebastian and everyone would get confused. Can I call you Sebby?" She began speaking in a more hurried manner,"Actually that sounds stupid. How about Mikhail?"

It was better than what the redheaded reaper used to call him. Or the name of a dead dog.

Brandishing the smile he was known for, he replied, "That sounds fine."

Returning the smile, albeit a bit more brilliantly, "Alright... Mikhail."

xxxxxxx

I will say this now so that no one gets confused. I will not, for the most part, refer to Sebastian as Sebastian. His current name is Mikhail.


	3. Chapter 3

p style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392);"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"The creaky iron door that led to the cellar made him think that she was leading him to some sort of a vault. Which, upon further inspection, it technically was, judging by the excessive load of luxurious supplies that could last for the new few generations without the least touch of restocked goods./span/p  
p style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392);"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Crimson wines and antique liqueurs were arranged by age. Some went from as far back as the 1790's. The unique teas were familiar to him, suggesting that the head of the household was some kind of English nobility. A door to the left led to a freezer rooms which contained vast collections of sumptuous meats and other frozen foods. Even the lighting in the cellar was extravagant. Off-white colored wax was shaped in, what he assumed to be, the emblem of the family residing there./span/p  
p style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392);"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"And while she tinkered with lighting a few candles, he had also taken the time to /spanspan style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"notice that it was fairly well kept. It had been swept and mopped recently and not a speck of dust could be found upon the shelves or wine racks./span/p  
p style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392);"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"He had a better guess of what she was now. By the look of the manor and her clean, patchy clothing and decrepit place of rest, his new master was a low-ranked servant. A military style dog-tag necklace hung loosely around her neck, reaching past delicate ribs, and an imperceptible bruise was visible on the bridge of her nose. It was probable that she had worn glasses before she went to bed but not all throughout the day./span/p  
p style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392);"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"When she was finished with the lights, her full attention weighed on him. She could now answer his questions. "What is it that you require of me?" He inquired deeply, his echo resonating like music from the depths of the room. /span/p  
p style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392);"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"She couldn't want money. She was too pure in soul for any measure of greed to nestle in her heart. And she seemed happy with her surroundings. She knew of the consequences of the contract and must have been intelligent enough to not ask for something terribly idiotic. /span/p  
p style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392);"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Various ideas of her desires flooded his mind now that he had talked to her and observed her movements and speech patterns, if only vaguely. Maybe she wanted to help her fellow servants. He could envision that scene. That she couldn't bea/spanspan style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"r to see the lives of her friends go to waste in cheap servitude. /spanspan style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Or maybe something grievous had happened to a friend that only an inhuman creature could correct. While the latter had a chance of being accurate, it was often that dead servants went unannounced throughout the whole household. And because of her alleged low rank and young age, it was unlikely that she was fully aware of what was happening around her. So his bet was on the former scenario. /span/p  
p style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392);"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"She was too easy to read, he thought. He could tell from the way she shied away from his inspecting stare that she wasn't particularly courageous or bold. But in reality, she was only weighing her response carefully in her mind. /span/p  
p style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392);"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"She wanted him to know the whole case, but, at the same time, she could only bear to recount of fraction of the true story. So she had to phrase it in a way that was straightforward but not see-through. And s/spanspan style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"he had to give it quickly so as to not lose herself in emotion but explain it in such a way that he understood without further information./span/p  
p style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392);"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"With a newfound boldness, she met his gaze "The prince has murdered a companion of mine named Anna. So I would like to... return the favor." The second half was spoken without the same vigorousness as the first but had the same level of determination. Even though her scratchy throat covered up some of that determination./span/p  
p style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392);"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"The only way to manage such a feat was to be invited into his chambers, where his guards were incapable of intercepting any attack. And because she was not in a position where should could garner his attention easily nor was she of an age where that kind of service would be normal, as the prince was a few years older than her, she would need Mikhail's assistance./span/p  
p style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392);"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"And maybe he could also the prince to fall in love with her. Then a stab at his heart would be less anticipated and had the potential to cause more pain. Though it was unlikely that he would fall in love with her without excessive time and effort. She didn't think that he even had the capacity to love something other than money./span/p  
p style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392);"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"It would also do some good for him to be in love with her when she stabbed him. Anna had been in love with him when he had ordered emher/em demise./span/p 


	4. Chapter 4

After witnessing the dauntless child's declaration, Mikhail heard Robin mutter with a quiet determination, while tears formed in those pale blue eyes. "I-I will. I will avenge her."

"The moon is high, master. You should return to your bed, lest you catch a cold." He knew that there were still some things they would need to discuss. It was late though, and humans need plenty of sleep in order to function, as he had been informed many times.

"Okay."

xxxxxxx

During the onyx-haired child's slumber, Mikhail thoroughly investigated the mansion and kept a mental map of the almost-endless hallways. Because he took additional care to be stealthy, the tuxedo-clad demon hadn't encountered any of the mansion's inhabitants.

The floors were made of the darkest sienna wood that sparkled because of the recently applied polishes. The walls painted white with black, hand-made designs. Regal paintings were arranged strategically along the clean walls. A bouquet of the whitest roses, positioned in the very center of of a matching sienna stand, could be found approximately every 35 feet, and silver chandeliers had been stationed along the ceiling, currently turned off as no one strolled about this time of night.

The entire mansion was spotless; even the ex-butler couldn't find a speck of dirt.

He discovered that there were three servants' quarters. The men retained their own space, the women had been given a slightly smaller area, and the children's quarters, where Robin currently resided, had the very least amount of room.

Each of the servants' quarters maintained a similar design: black and whiten striped walls with white-sheeted bunk beds placed in every open space, save for the center, as that was the only walkway to the servants' bathrooms which were also well kept, and a small dark wood dresser/nightstand was the only thing that separated the currently occupied bunk beds.

The kitchen had enough food to feed an army, not a small one either. The bedroom-sized pantry fully stocked with almost any-and every-English food anyone could ever desire. _He_ was even impressed with the amount of high-quality utensils and other pieces of cookware. The pots pans were a rich, glossy black colour.

The library was even more extensive than the kitchen. Sienna wood bookshelves with ornate carved designs caught his eye, but that wasn't what had captured his full attention so abruptly. Along with the almost endless collection of books, he found books with information about _demons_, but what was truly shocking was that some were written in his, a demon's, _native_ tongue. Michael had opened one of the books to verify the writing. His assumptions were correct, as always.

He wouldn't investigate the bedrooms of the nobles quite yet because that would risk the chance that one of the royal residents would awake for some incomprehensible reason. He would examine everything else in the morning-

_"What are you doing within the halls, you fiend?!"_


	5. Chapter 5

Mikhail stood there, frozen in shock. How had he _not_ sensed the other male's presence? A fleeting thought crossed his mind that the demon books had something to do with it, but, in his experience, humans could not read a demons' text nor speak it. Unfortunately, he had no time to mull over that subject.

The male in question appeared as if he had just rolled out of bed. His flaxen hair stuck up in several different, unflattering places, a trail of drool could be discovered on the side of his chin, and he was clad in some form of silk long johns that were rumpled in _every_ _way humanly imaginable_. Mikhail also noted that the boy had somewhat of a stuck-up aura about him, and suspected that he was some brat son of a high-ranking official.

He wore an disgusted expression on his face like it was going out of style. As if _Mikhail_ was the disgusting looking one.

"I was searching for something." It was a half truth, sure, but not an _absolute_ lie.

"Yeah, what?" The young man, the demon noticed, had an _impressively_ _obnoxious_ British accent.

"Nothing of your _concern._ Who are you, if I may ask." The older male inquired lightly.

"No, anything in this house is in my concern. And _I_ am the soon-to-be head of the family. How you _didn't_ know that is beyond me..." The British accent was only the tip of the iceberg for _this_ guy's obnoxious tendencies.

'Ah, this _must be_ the prince that Robin wants to murder...' The older male gleefully determined. 'Nonetheless, this boy is the prince, so being cordial is absolutely necessary.'

"My name is Mikhail, and I was curious about the manor that I am going to apply for. I was looking around now so that I didn't disturb anyone's schedule. I would like to discuss in the morning with the person who is responsible for the servants." Attempting to charm his way in, he was polite when speaking to the rude boy who may soon be his _employer._ Oh goody.

If he wanted to constantly protect his new master and be near to aid in the raven-haired child's revenge, than he would have to reside under the same roof.

"Fine. If you get the hell out of my mansion, I'll have someone speak with you in the morning." The teenage royalty had just been rudely awoken by strange noises and his judgement wasn't very good, _especially_ at this time of day. So, he told Mikhail the words he wanted to hear so that he, the lazy prince, could get back to his sinfully comfortable, ornately-decorated bed.

"Thank you for your time." He spoke amiably while smiling sweetly.

Before Mikahil even finished his sentence, the teenager had already started walking away... _not knowing that he had just sealed his own death._

xxxxxxx

I don't even know why this site omits some words from my chapters. If you see one please point it out to me. I think I got most of them, but my eyes aren't exactly perfect.

Also the length of these chapters will normally range from 450 words to 650 words. Just in case anyone was wondering. The longest amount of time I would probably take to update is about a week... or two.


	6. Chapter 6

After the fiasco with the prince, the clouds had birthed a thick rain. So the noiret decided to check on Robin.

The children's quarters was well-kept also. Abnormally, he could locate no toys or keepsakes of any nature. In fact, most of the children shared a similar scent as some of the adults, suggesting that the children were the offspring of the other servants. It _was_ common for noblemen to use the offspring of maids and manservants as future domestic help.

He also noticed while verifying his master's safety that the young servant dressed like a boy. From observing the other sleeping children, he could tell that the female children were in fact given different garments than the male children. He could not grasp why Robin choose to dress like she did. Maybe, she was a tomboy. He would _have_ to change the way the she dressed. It was hard to obtain masculine attention while clad in such unflattering clothing. Her short, choppy black hair didn't help much either.

The young female appeared restless in her sleep... like she was experiencing a nightmare. She was panting silently, and Mikhail observed drops of liquid pouring like rain from the girl's eyelashes, soaking the pillow behind her ears. Small hands were clutching the comforter with enough intensity to rip them. Anna's death had really scarred her by the terrible way she was trembling.

She was in fact lightly tearing the blankets in her sleep. It would be wasting to tear them, he thought. With only the innocent intent to calm her, he placed his large palm on her throbbing wrist, half-knowing that she would wake up.

It was approximately an hour before the light of dawn. The quarters was without any light save for the meagre white-wax candles positioned at seemingly random along the wall, dimmed by the thick glass covering that prevented house fires. The steady precipitation was the most prevalent noise heard within the normally hectic mansion. The sleeping children's breathing and snoring was the other, less-pronounced noise detected.

The room was decorated with more simplicity than the other rooms that he had examined. Well, scarcity would be a more precise adjective. A bathroom dominated a quarter of the room, and the grey wall paper was peeling atrociously, a sign of its age and the inhabitants of the room that it decorated.

Blue-hued eyes widened, becoming doe-like in appearance, and she gasped. Mikhail, still clad in his jet-black uniform, was made that much more grim while bathed in the dim candlelight. Crimson eyes shone under the lack of light. His cream-toned skin became more ghostly... if that was even possible and appeared more striking under his dark uniform. 'He's beautiful' she pondered absurdly. 'He'd probably get mad if I told him that though.' The servant added as an afterthought.

To the child, Mikhail's first entrance was surreal. When Robin saw him for the very first time, she still wouldn't be able to explain how she felt at the Hellish creature's overpowering aura and fear-inducing visage.

At first, Robin thought that this thing was going to kill her instantaneously. However after being offered the deal of a lifetime, dreadful pun intended, she found that if the prince could actually die by her own power... she wouldn't mind selling her soul to a demon.


	7. Chapter 7

"You were having a nightmare." The older male pointed out gently, as if _that_ was the _only_ reason he had awoken the equally pale girl. Well, she _was_ about to destroy her cheap bedspread.

"Ah." Something was definitely wrong if the normally enthusiastic female would give a one-word answer to any question... _ever._ Mikhail doubted that the animated servant had ever given a one-word answer in her _life_. She was too exuberant to do such a thing.

"I was scared that you were just a illusion, born from my lack of sleep." Robin admitted quietly while glancing up carefully, having recovered mostly from the trembling. His presence had soothed her almost immediately after escaping from the horrible nightmare.

"I am not a dream, nor will I ever be. I have promised to never leave your side, and I intend to keep that promise. I will even follow you into the depths of Hell. I do not lie the same way that humans do." He assured smoothly whilst removing his gloves. Maybe pledged would be more accurate. The child brightened up visibly at his words; they had truly comforted her...more than he would ever know.

Switching the topic, "I will meet with someone in the morning to discus my position within the mansion." He informed.

"You're going to work with me-!? _Mmpf_." The former butler had covered her mouth_-half of her face really-_with his large, bare hand so that she would refrain awaking the children with the surrounding vicinity. That would cause too grand of an uproar for one night.

The young servant's skin was_... _soft, seemingly untouched by the, currently pouring, elements. Under his palm, chapped lips had formed a grin that was probably bright enough to light up the entire quarters.

He honestly could not comprehend why this particular human was so joyful while in his presence... or in general. He had sensed an unprecedented desire for vengeance in their first encounter. Where was that implacable hatred now?

"My apologies." He removed his palm from the girl's mouth. Although, judging by the size of the smile on the the child's face, no real damage was done. "I do not want to disturb anyone in the area. So please maintain an appropriate volume during the wee hours of the morning." He whispered firmly.

"You should get back to bed, master." He continued, determined, this time, to put her to sleep.

"Don't call me that; no one calls _me_ that. Call me Ro. Plus, if we're going to work together, it'll be weird if you call me 'master'." She informed him, her noodle-sized fingers doing air-quotes when saying the word "master".

He is, and has always been, obligated to obey his master. Trying it on for size,"Alright... Ro." He spoke her name with a customary grin.

Releasing a cheerful noise, the girl smiled too, the almost blinding brightness of her soul being shown through the pale blue orbs.

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Just a bit-a-fluff.


	8. Chapter 8

I realize that I've never said this before...so here it goes. I do _**not**_ Kuroshitsuji. I wish I had Yana Toboso's drawing talent, though.

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Lightly pressing against her torso, he guided her into a lying position before draping the faintly ripped blanket over the small child. She was still looking at him with those big, round eyes, her lips having twisted upward in a small, less-blinding smile. Her head fell against the pillow comically, her hands against the cushion in an I-surrender fashion while poking out her tongue and winking. Consequently, her nose crinkled and and a light erratic puff of laughing breath escaped grinning lips.

Was she always this goofy? 'Hopefully not,' the seasoned demon pondered.

After bidding goodnight, Mikhail, convinced that his job was done for the night, set a smooth, steady pace towards the worn doors because heaven knew she would never fall asleep with him there. She would probably love to talk his ear off rather than sleep, even though she could-and most likely would-in the morning.

"Wait!" She rushed abruptly, messily undoing the sheets he had purposely tucked around her.

He halted and glanced over his shoulder as a form of response.

Focusing her gaze lower at the small, twiddling fingers, "Anna used to give me a... kiss on the forehead after she tucked me in. It always... helped me sleep." The young girl admitted almost shyly, staring sadly at the familiar blanket that had been wrapped around her strategically.

Understanding the obvious request, he ambled over nonchalantly to her bedside. He didn't know if she would really sleep better after receiving a kiss, but he did know that a kiss _was_ an action humans regarded as comforting. So, it had a chance to work... _in theory_.

He was a demon, a beast born to be cold and prey upon the unknowing and innocent. He was _definitely not_ born to _comfort_ anyone. However, an order, albeit an implied one, was still an order.

She had shut her eyes in expectance. So, he leaned down and placed his lips over the forehead of his prey.

Not even two seconds after he had removed his mouth, she relaxed visibly. Her breathing was already deep, her chest rising and falling with each slow breath. Her head had tilted to the side, her mouth parting slightly, allowing drool to gather, her right thumb perfectly poised above her lips in a blatantly child-like gesture. A pale neck was bared to his view. His teeth lengthened, and his tongue ran over his lips in obvious appreciation of the slender column, filled with the claret-coloured liquid he loved so.

He calmed himself and exited the room, excited for the day when he would feast.

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I think I like how this turned out. Hopefully, Sebastian is not too OOC. This might be a little creepy for T though.


	9. Chapter 9

With nothing better to do, Mikhail contemplated the situation at hand. The prince had told him that there would be someone to speak with in the morning. _Where would they meet? How would this person know who to talk to?_ He sighed with exasperation. In theory, he should've asked that boy more questions, but, if he had, the prince would have grown weary of him and taken back the job offer. Securing a position in the manor was the most important obstacle at the moment.

He had to bite down a chuckle at the irony. The first time he had ever been a servant for one of these contracts was for the Young Master. Now, he was to work as a servant here, in this extravagant manor. Hopefully, summoning a demon to become your servant wasn't becoming a new trend of any sort...

Losing himself in a random train of thought, the next time he glanced at the practically-sparkling window beside him, a beautiful sunrise greeted his line of vision. He could no longer use the cloak of darkness to hide his overwhelming presence. With the acute hearing of demon, the rustling of bed sheets alerted him to the state of the inhabitants of the mansion.

Loud thuds, among other things, blatantly announced the amount of distance, or lack thereof, between the newly awoken human and Mikhail. 'It is a man.' He calculated with help from the musky scent in the air. Noticing the sudden absence of footsteps, the dark-haired demon began meticulously scrutinizing the sienna wood desk, searching for some kind of clue as as to whom the work space belonged. Eventually, he identified a small piece of wood, resting upon a piece of copper, dulled and rusted from age.

Something had been engraved on it...

The name _Sebastian_ Sacris met his eyes, clear as day.

Luck was on his side that day. He had managed to locate the room of the head of the servants..._the man who would decide whether or not he would labor in the Kiran Mansion, alongside his new master._

The sienna entrance in the corner of the room opened slowly, with a obnoxious creak, a sign of the ware and tear it had been subjected to over the years.

The grey-haired man rested his gaze on Mikhail quietly, observing the demon carefully. The prince had informed him mere seconds ago of a man who wished to serve here, in the Kiran Manor. He just hadn't envisioned that the man would be so quick-to-the-punch.

He inwardly smirked.

_The show has begun._

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If you're confused, read chapter 2 again. I am _so excited_ to write the next few chapters.

_**Julie:**_ There is a legitimate reason as to why I write Sebastian as a very cold, ruthless character and Ro as a very exuberant character. It _will_ play out in the end.


	10. Chapter 10

"What is your name, Stranger?" Sacris clipped, brushing the dust off his squared shoulders, appearing calm as per usual.

"Mikhail." The more youthful male informed amiably, his lips have twisted upward in a familiar action, regarded as cordial in the human customs.

Onyx eyes, belonging to the grey-haired gentleman currently standing with a tree-like amount of movement, still peered at him with an icy, careful glare, despite Mikhail's best attempts to appear charismatic. First impressions were important, as this was what one would normally refer to as an interview. Both males were equally calm; the only difference in behavior between the two was a slight, charming smile brazenly scrawled on the lips of the unusually handsome demon.

"You have no surname?" Red-tinted cinnamon eyes widened marginally in unwanted distress. Robin had forgotten to decide on a last name for the newly contracted devil! It was either he created one on the fly or falsely admit that he had no such thing... which would result in a light barrage of inquiries that he had little time for.

Offering his glove-wrapped palm in polite gesture, "Pardon my rudeness. I am Mikhail Corvus, pleased to meet you." He fibbed smoothly, burgundy eyes crinkling with an upward curve of a pale, sinful mouth.

Clasping the outreached hand, with a measured degree of disinterest, "Sebastian Sacris. Are you the man His Majesty informed me of?" After receiving a solemn nod of affirmation, he continued, "What was your previous place of occupation? A detailed answer is most preferable." He questioned, a deep, polished British accent showing in the tired tone of his voice, his deep-set eyes still staring at the cat lover with an undisclosed level of discernment.

"My previous place of occupation was as a butler for an English nobleman. I have vast experience in cleaning, cooking, and managing other servants. If you desire a letter of recommendation, I can retrieve one easily." The seasoned beast clarified fluidly, giving a brief yet informative summary of his household prowess.

"What was the reason behind your departure of that manor?" He needed to know more about the man in front of him, for the safety of the household. At first glance, the wise, old butler had noticed a... _displeasant_ aura coming from this Mikhail fellow.

"I simply quit... on amiable terms of course." He answered, pronouncing the last part _much_ more buoyantly than the first.

Mikhail's minuscule amount of fatigue from answering the light barrage of questions was showing ever-so slightly, displayed in the perfunctory way he maintained a synthetic smile. Maybe, this man and Robin were related somehow? If that were the case, he wouldn't be horrendously shocked.

"We have need for another assistant to the head chef. You will work there, starting today. The chef will inform you where the uniforms are kept. Do you have any questions?" He spoke with his eyebrows faintly raised in expectance of a positive reply. One could tell from the tone of finality seeping from his voice that he had spent _many years_ dealing with various kinds of people.

"No. Thank you for the generous position." The noiret was still sycophantic even after achieving his goal.

Stepping soundlessly away from the sienna wood exit, "You may leave." The grey-haired butler pointed out the obvious, dull onyx eyes still regarding the smirking demon with the same caution from earlier.

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After departing from the meticulously well-kept office, Mikhail inspected his pocket watch for the third time that morning. He would have to inform Robin of the development. So, locating the honeyed scent of his new master, he found that it was most prevalent in the kitchen.

Arriving soundlessly at the aged, abused door, he could detect the breathless voice of the girl, expressing her gratitude for some form of assistance. Another voice met his demonic ears; this time, it belonged an old woman. Multiple thuds in a tandem informed him that what the old butler had spoken was true; they were quite busy and, calculating from the smell that there were only three people working in the spacious kitchen, they were low on manpower.

After rapping lightly on the scarred wood, the door opened to reveal a girl with a dirty apron, a spatula, grasped in her noodle-like fingers, and a head of short, choppy, black hair encased by a chef's hat that was _just_ a size too big.

Crimson eyes widened without shame.

"Are _you_ my new assistant?!"

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Long-ish as it is the milestone tenth note here,_ thank you_ to all those that have read and followed and favorited and reviewed. It brings me a different kind of joy.

Sacris means _sacred_ in Latin.

Corvus means _crow_/_raven_ in Latin.

I thought that would be a fun, little tidbit.


	11. Chapter 11

In this story some of the characters speak different languages. For this chapter, the only non-English language is German. Also, for those that have _not _read the manga, Sebastian speaks fluent German.

**_"German dialogue"_**

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"Are you really the head chef?" He was flabbergasted, and it took hell of a lot, cliché pun intended, to flabbergast _him._ Her baggy, patched clothing had lead him to assume that she was just a normal servant that simply cleaned the manor.

"And the head baker!" She announced with the same level of cheerfulness that she had last night. Her being a baker seemed fitting; she probably "taste-tested" all of the deserts multiple times and added too much sugar to her creations on a regular basis. His theories would soon be proven accurate.

She was already his master in the demonic sense. So, it saved him the hassle of dealing with another human, at least. Well, that may not been entirely true. A man and a woman who looked an awful lot like an old married couple had halted their work to glance curiously at the gringo; after deeming the newcomer acceptable for _Robin_ to handle, they returned to their chores, mixing batter and kneading pliant, beige dough.

She gestured to a white door with equally white flour that had been sprayed at random bits of the old wood," The aprons and uniforms are in there." She clarified, as Sacris had predicted.

Ambling back to the oak wood cutting board, she grasped the freshly sharpened knife at her right with the sureness of a professional and resumed chopping up the walnuts for the Amish bread topping. A pot to her left simmered with supervision; grasping the infamous British leaves, porcelain teacups, and a mini strainer, she efficiently prepared the tea, pouring the boiling water with a maintained elegance.

Michael had to admit that the noirette maintained an impressive felicity in a kitchen.

Although, the reason why a head chef wore such raggedy garments still eluded him.

_**"Ro-chan, would you put the ingredients in for another batch? I don't think this'll be enough."** _The woman requested warmly, her rough hands brushing to dust the flour from them. 'The people here speak German.' The demon concluded evenly.

**_"Okay. Will do."_ **His master did too, apparently. Who taught her German?

After dressing himself in the appropriate clothes, he sauntered to the pale chef. Without regard for warning him, she shoved, _shoved _ a raw, slimy ham in his arms. "Cut these into little squares, please." She solicited expectantly. She signaled to the apparatuses in question, as she elucidated, "The knives are in that drawer, and the cutting boards are in that drawer." Unable to disregard a request from his master, he began following the mundane order.

His interest had been piqued.

"Who taught you German?" was said casually, not trying to gather attention.

"Oh, no one. I'm so sorry. I didn't explain anything." She began genuinely,"Some of the servants here weren't actually born in England. Because of this, they didn't understand what the higher-ups were telling them, and it very heavily affected their ability to perform their duties. So, I took it upon myself to learn their language and teach them mine. I know enough Spanish, German and French to keep a conversation...And I know a little bit of Russian and Japanese, too." She simplified, holding her index finger and thumb closely when sheepishly saying the last part.

'Impressive. Learning multiple languages in such a small amount of time takes incredible dedication and intelligence. It took _me_ more than twelve years to master those languages.'

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Don't mess with Robin when she's in a kitchen. Nuff said. She pretty smart. Any theories as to why?


	12. Chapter 12

The windows in the bustling kitchen were unlatched. A pleasant morning breeze wafting over the active staff.

The demon was meticulously yet efficiently slicing the thick ham as had been demanded by the twelve year-old chef. The older white-faced gentleman to the left of the demon was shoving a cup over the malleable dough, sculpting perfectly round crumpets. The short brunette woman to the right of the demon was smashing garlic with an impressive passion and simultaneously dicing potent onions.

"We have guests today." Robin didn't turn to gaze at him when her uncharacteristically soft British tone drifted to his ears. She continued with a faint titter,"It was quite lucky that you came in today; if not, we would have run around like headless chickens as we normally do. " Taking on a more formal pitch,"The guests are Mr. and Mrs. Craston and their children- two boys, four girls. For breakfast, we will be serving omelets, crumpets, and tea." The brew that she had poured earlier was made for herself apparently. As she had taken a large, almost sloppy gulp from the porcelain teacup after informing him of the morning's activities.

The short brunette woman had lifted her head before introducing herself. "Hello, I'm Hadelinde, but mos' folks call me Haddy. Nice t' meet cha." She grabbed his slimy hand and shook it. "An' that there," Pointing to the large gentleman at the demon's left," is Gunthar. He's real' quiet." She spoke with a heavy, authentic German accent.

After the final ham squares were carved, Mikhail handed the finished product to the young chef when she requested for them. She tossed the various ingredients into the sauté pan and sprinkled the oil over the fresh veggies. Suddenly, Sacris threw open the door with no regard for announcing his arrival.

"The Crastons are early." He informed and left just as swiftly as he had arrived.

"I suppose we _are_ going to run around like headless chickens, _again_. This is the fourth time." Her voice, along with the rest of her, was exasperated. "Alright, Gunthar, please give the crumpets to me. Haddy, stir the jam and prepare the honey butter." Her orders were hasty but precise as was her movements. Robin grabbed the flamethrower. Very carefully, she aimed the fire near the crumpets to lightly sear them while the dark-haired devil was brazenly reminded of _another_ chef who was horrifically fond of flamethrowers. After the little pastries were heated to an even golden-brown color, she placed them in the oven to perfect the centers.

When they were done, the staff dressed and plated the little pastries. Robin and Mikhail sprinted to serve the overly snobby guests.

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**I could give you a million excuses, but I'll just say it. Sorry about the wait!**


	13. Chapter 13

The palm of her hand flattened softly underneath the large, silver serving platter, loaded with the hastily prepared food.

While she walked toward the rectangular table, irritated, ice-hued eyes trained on the guests. That flamethrower must have agitated her eyes somehow. Because the sclera that surrounded the expressive orbs was lightly tinted pink. But despite what many of the other staff thought, she_had_ used a flamethrower before that day. Not to say that she was fully experienced with one. Or that she liked them. She just hadn't had much of a choice that morning. The guests were early, and the food had not yet been prepared. And while they could have simply just made breakfast at the scheduled time and pace, the Kiran Manor's staff had always been-and would always be-awesome.

While serving at the table, her demeanour was visibly different compared to how she normally acted. The way she walked during the day was almost bouncy, and sometimes delicate hum was attached. But when she walked out to serve the guests, her gait was smooth, each measured step providing the least amount of noise.

And she could act as gracefully and professionally as she wanted, but her clothes would always degrade the effort. The loose, flowing fabric of her shirt hung languidly on her frame. Her pants followed the example on her hips, giving a careless, just-flopped-out-of-bed look. And it was_not_ a good flopped-out-of-bed look like some of the other women in her life sported.

The worst part about it was that she could not ask for a wardrobe change. The princess had specifically ordered that Robin would wear those oversized pieces of men's clothing. And the way she had done it made the servant wary of requesting that it be repealed. The way the entire situation had gone made her wary of the princess. She hadn't even spoken to the blonde since that day, despite the amount of times she would see her while serving the meals and even walking through the manor.

But now was not the times for such musings. The guests had already been situated by Master Sacris and were chatting while waiting for their tea and breakfast.

The Crastons were dear friends of the of the King and ran the seaway shipping business for that area. Mr. Craston, while sporting a stout and sturdy build with a voice to match, was surprisingly a sweet-hearted nobleman. His wife Mrs. Craston was a tall, lanky brunette whose voice was a tad too much on the squeaky side. And their children's were all snotty, haughty, ungrateful little brats that enjoyed spending every hour of the day whining and complaining. Although Robin would never say such things out loud.

She casted a brief glance at her demonic partner. He walked steadily beside her, carrying the tray of tea for the impromptu breakfast. His display of professionalism was similar to hers, but a signature smirk played on the corners of his lips.

He always had a reason to smirk, it seemed.

As if they had practiced beforehand, they both stopped at the same time. Mikhail began pouring the tea into special-edition, floral printed teacups. And Robin lifted the plates from the tray, preparing to set the food before them.

If the guests had noticed their presence, they hadn't acknowledged it in any way. She was bent over to place the food on the clothe of the table when the oldest Craston girl whispered into her ear with mock kindness,

_"Can I ask you a question?"_

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Reviews fuel some my writing. So, if you liked the chapter, drop a line or something.

All I can say about the lack of updates is (Sorry!), for the past month, I was busy mixed with random, intense bouts of writers' block. So.. yeah.


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